


Bourbon in Your Eyes

by viajeramyra



Series: Black velvet, if you please [1]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Bodyguard, Boss/Employee Relationship, Character Study, Foreplay, M/M, Mild Smut, crime boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/viajeramyra
Summary: He’d fucked plenty of men before, but the blurred lines between Berlín and Palermo, Andrés and Martín woke something new. He craved it, longed to reach for it through the fog and unwrap all of its secrets.—A 1920s Berlermo character study
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: Black velvet, if you please [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046368
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47





	Bourbon in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’ve been working on a new Mob Boss Andrés and Bodyguard (Former Boxer) Martín AU/collection for a couple of weeks now. I had this little idea tonight and decided to give a little teaser to see if this project was something people were interested in for 2021. If not, it’ll move to being an original work only. 
> 
> Either way, I hope you all enjoy this teaser. 
> 
> Thanks for all the love and support you brought me in 2020. It’s really renewed my desire to publish my own novel by 2030.

Martín gripped the rim of the tumbler with his fingers, his wrist moving in a circle as he twirled the golden liquid around in his glass. His arm rested along the back of the sofa, his left leg extending from the rigid pose he maintained from the last hour. When Andrés proposed an evening drink, he’d been tempted to decline the invitation — it always led to the same destination recently. Since their fight in the hallway some months ago, flirts had turned from simple lines and the occasional wandering hands to teeth grazing skin and locked doors discouraging interruption. Tonight felt no different, only something inside Martíns stirred. All the silver linings hid in the cover of night, but this was growing towards something more. 

That had never been his intention. 

“I should be on my way,” he stated, placing his drink on the small table in front of him. 

Andrés smiled, still leaning on his desk a few steps away. “As I’ve said, you are free to go. You are as free now as you were two drinks ago.” 

The curve of Andrés’ thin lips dared him to make that very move; he’d rise from the sofa, his hand would wrap around the doorknob, and he’d walk until he met the driver at the front door. Nothing stopped him from returning home like the rest of their associates had at the end of the meeting. But Martín _knew_. He knew the moment he passed Andrés, the waft of cardamom and brandy would blaze through his nose until his lungs burned and wicked words strung together in his head until only actions remained. Andrés knew it too, expected it. _Wanted_ it, Martín corrected. 

He wanted it too. Too much, in fact. 

He enjoyed this job, took in all of the perfects and the finest bottles they illegally imported. He liked the parties and the men, though his eye had fallen short of admiring anyone else in recent weeks. He loved sitting on the right hand of this dynasty, in a way even Lisboa in all her notoriety could not reach. His respect for _Berlín_ stopped at the end of their professional lines, where something stronger began. Martín spent most of his nights learning _Andrés_ — the grooves of the man’s body, the effect of his hands _here_ or his teeth _there._ Other nights, he defied all odds and submitted to the man’s will. Their bodies fit together, as though sculpted by the Maker for one divine purpose alone. He’d fucked plenty of men before, but the blurred lines between _Berlín and Palermo, Andrés and Martín_ woke something new. He craved it, longed to reach for it through the fog and unwrap all of its secrets. 

For that exact reason, Martín was still here. 

Blood ran cold through his body, and shivers brought goosebumps to his arms. He’d be warm soon enough. He finally stood and took the three steps needed to cross the distance separating them. His index finger tilted Andrés’ chin up, the look in their eyes extending the same challenge to the other. 

“Boss.” 

“I’ve told you, you can call me Andrés.” 

“Your lips say one thing,” Martín whispered, his mouth only an inch away from Andrés’ now, “But I’m not blind to the look in your eye or your skipped breath. You like it.” 

“You’re too certain of yourself, Berrote. Your place isn’t as secure as you think,” Andrés growled, his tongue wetting across his bottom lip. 

“Liar. Should I tell you _why_ you enjoy it?” He mused, his finger burning with Andrés’ chin still rested upon it. 

“And if you’re wrong?” 

Martín’s other hand found Andrés’ hip, thumb against the tucked dress shirt. Their chest bumped together as he stood taller, still not relenting. This was a familiar dance, the rhythms and movements ever the same from the very first time. Martín _craved_ it, with every breath Andrés released, hot against his face. The fantasy of power only took the man so far as he sat and dictated the successful operations of his crime syndicate. But every sigh Martín earned from Andrés betrayed too much of his employer’s true nature.

Andrés liked power, surrounded himself with it, longed for respect, but bowed to his own self-indulgence first. 

“If I were wrong, your gun would be at my temple. You might have even fired already,” Martín finally replied, twisting the man around in his arms. 

Martín would’ve sworn he heard a short, high cry escape the man as he landed flat against his chest, but he didn’t have time to dwell on something so small. Instead, his palms flattened against Andrés’ chest, fingers spread wide. His own heart thundered in his chest, throat dry pressed against Andrés in return. He longed for this, _e_ _njoyed_ this too much. 

He thrived in taking control over the storms that raged in them both. 

He made his way down Andrés’ shirt, popping open buttons as he went along. The slowed pace renewed something Martín fought to ignore, something almost _sweet_ written in its nature. This couldn’t be about _that._ This was _carnal,_ and **that** was vulnerable and raw. 

“Tell me... what is it you think I like?” 

The question snapped him from his concern, for now. Perhaps Andrés didn’t notice the change of pace or at least missed its deeper meaning. That was okay. He didn’t need to know how badly Martín wanted to fall to his knees and pledge his fidelity. Andrés didn’t need to see how much Martín would fight his own nature to bend only for him. 

His chin rested on the groove of Andrés’ shoulder, mouth pressed around the shell of his ear. He breathed hotly, enjoying Andrés’ body trembling against his. “You need permission to let go. To let someone else make the decisions and… _worship_ you. Unfortunately, your ex-wives weren’t up for the challenge.” 

“And you are?” 

Martín’s nail trailed up the center of Andrés’ exposed chest, his teeth grazing his ear. “You know I am at your right hand.” 

Andrés turned his head, Martín’s hold only enough to look at him from the corner of his eye. His hands paused Martín’s exploration, something more serious than their usual teasing and torment etched in the way Andrés furrowed his brow. “You’re not on duty, you know. This isn’t… this is more than our business arrangement.” 

“What is it, pray tell?” 

“ _Everything_ ,” Andrés breathed against his mouth, sealing the word with a kiss. 


End file.
